


Got Some Damn Bad Intentions

by Star_Nymph



Series: To The Moon and Back [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Asperger Inquisitor, Asperger Syndrome, Blowjobs, Cullenlingus, F/M, Teasing, Vaginal Sex, gratuitous shirtless cullen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 17:39:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11537163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Nymph/pseuds/Star_Nymph
Summary: A heatwave has turned Skyhold into a scorching hellhole of which there is no escape or so everyone has told Inquisitor Eurydice incessantly. Not often bothered by the heat, she has little issue handling the high temperatures until she witnesses the day’s intense training out in the courtyard–and the Commander’s stunning exposed body in the sunlight.Suddenly, the heat has become something of a nagging issue–well, that and something else.





	Got Some Damn Bad Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I had given myself like a 5kword goal on this and somehow it went way, waaaay longer. I do not know how people write smut on the daily because I was losing my mind while writing this but to everyone who does? You deserve a thousand bouquets and a unlimited gift card to your favorite store. I was more rusty than I thought.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story, even if it drags on in places. If you have any comments or helpful tips please feel free to write something. I’ll definitely appreciate the feedback! Thank you for reading!
> 
> (Title taken from Bad Intentions by Niykee Heaton)

It was hot…or so she was told.

With the passing of the summer solstice, Skyhold had been graced with a sudden wave of heat in the last week, one that many of the residences didn’t appear to be prepared for. It was a dry, suffocating spell which locked around the inside and outside of the fortress, the inescapably dense air more of a labor than ever to breathe in. With the sky a flawless blue, any hope in some relief from the occasional cloud cover was dashed as the sun cast its unforgivable rays down on every inch of the stronghold. It was evidently pure torture to be in the main hall—Varric had remarked that standing anywhere near a window was akin to being thrown into a boiling pot of sweating rat stew being cooked by a rage demon using an inferno spell.

When Eurydice inquired why, after he summarized the statement to ‘it’s too hot’ for her, did he keep his thick tunic on, the dwarf only chuckled into his iced drink and said with a wink, “Aesthetic.”

She didn’t get it.

In a desperate effort to limit both heat stroke and headache, Josephine had ordered every window and door open so to let the cool mountain wind in. Despite this, nothing changed. Indeed, the Inquisitor could hear the choruses of groans and drones as she came down from her chambers, the voices creeping in from under the doorway with the shadows and grime. It wasn’t the sort of thing that could be helped, she noted, as if it wasn’t one thing to whine about with these people, then it was another.

And just like everything else, Eurydice didn’t see the current issue with the sudden rise in temperature.

In fact, she barely noticed it at all and if she did, she hardly found it an imperative thing to comment on. The Ferelden Summer felt, if only to her, lacking in comparison to the stifling heat of the northern Free Marches. It was a hotness that was customary for her clan, one that even in the wet forest or during a sudden, violent rainstorm, it was impossible to avoid. In the face of that and the memory of traveling in the unrelenting sun in spite of it all, this summer heat was rather unimpressive to the elf.

And, thus, as she passed by a pair of whining nobles fanning themselves, Eurydice scarcely acknowledged their plight.

“Oh, Inquisitor—you must be miserable.” One of the women called to her, her voice labored beneath her seafoam colored mask. She craned her head back and pressed a silk handkerchief to the underside of her jaw. “This is absolutely disgusting. I cannot stand it much longer! Something must be done.”

Eurydice halted in front of a door with her hand on the knob and turned her head slightly to eye the woman’s clothing. It was a splendid ornate dress she wore: a rich brown skirt adorned in gilded flowers that traveled all the way up to her tighten bodice, her neckline low but lined with heavy lace, and her puffy sleeves covered her from shoulder to wrist, ending in even more trimming. All that accompanied by a weighty gold necklace, her mask, and a rather large feathered hat. It made the elf’s skin crawl, a painful itchy feeling dancing down her stomach and sides just from the sight of it—heavy fabric like that overstimulated her nerves, the weight of it making her want to scream.

The logic didn’t add up in the elf’s head. If it was hot, why dress as if ready for a walk in winter?

In her mind, she heard the word ‘aesthetic’ in Varric’s voice.

She still didn’t get it.

Eurydice flexed her fingers around the handle, once, twice, three times, and then rammed it down to open the door. “Wear  _less_.” She said dismissively as she entered and slammed the door behind her without a second thought.

It was as she was descending up the staircase that she felt the familiar nip of a cooling spell; it coated the walls and the steps, the chill biting into Eurydice’s bare feet the higher she got. Vivienne’s work; she could feel her imprint in the wisps of her magic—an elegant curved signature of icy white-blue that made her think of glittering diamonds—as she turned the corner and went up towards her lodge.

The enchantress cast a long shadow in the ruthless sun. Though prim and posed as usual, she leaned against the doorway of her balcony and relaxed as the wind streamed shyly past her as if even nature needed to respect the presence of the mage. Gingerly, she waved a feathered fan under her neck, her gaze towards the sky and perhaps a million miles away in some palace or in someone else’s arms.

Where ever she had gone, it took only Eurydice sliding up beside Vivienne to break her musing. Her dark eyes flickered from the sky to the elf as she paused and pressed the tip of the fan to her smiling lips, "Inquisitor, my dear—what a pleasure it is to see you this early in the morning. I had expected Josephine to have you fluttering about to attend to others’ needs.”

Eurydice traced the carved steel of the door’s frame and shook her head. “No. Josephine said it was too hot for formal visitations today. The Lady Marseille’s ‘fragile’ nerves cannot withstand the weather.”

That was a kinder way of describing what Josephine had reported as a ‘fit’—the noblewoman had, rather, refused to leave her room and had thusly demanded a tub and about twenty buckets of ice less she die from the heat. Eurydice had thought it best to let the woman die in a mixture in her own sweat and indignity but Josephine disagreed. The buckets were sent and the two of them were relieved to be spared the meeting for the day.

“Indeed? Yes, if I remember right, the poor dear has always been on the weak side constitution wise.” The enchantress dropped her arms to her side and turned around, taking her time as she walked back to one of her tables where a display of tea was laid out. Placing the fan down, she ran her fingertips along the rim of one of the cups, “For the best, I expect. It wouldn’t do to expose one’s self to this heat—some might take your fatigue as weakness, my dear.”

As she took the cup in her hand and lifted it to her mouth, Vivienne eyed Eurydice—eyed, in particular, the sheer white off the shoulder dress she wore—and added, “But you seem to be wearing the weather with no trouble. I doubt you’d have to concern yourself.”

Eurydice blinked owlishly at her, unsure of what she meant by ‘wearing the weather’. Could one do that? Wear a season like a dress or a nicely knitted scarf? Could she tie autumn around her waist like a belt? The elf shifted from right to left and stomped her foot, on the tip of her tongue was the temptation to ask but she resisted it, a small part of her wanting to not appear foolish in front of the mage. “You…wear it well, too.” She said as she twisted a few strands of hair around her fingers and pulled.

She heard Vivienne hum, “Why not join me, my dear? I’ve had a special summer blend of tea brought over from Orlais this morning. It is best drunk chilled with a lemon on the side.” She gestured to one of her chairs across from her chaise longue.

Chilled tea?

Just the thought made Eurydice’s teeth ache, goosebumps settling across her exposed shoulders and down her arms. The cooling spell around her was already particularly hard to ignore—she had never been fond of the cold in the first place—and, in truth, she wasn’t interested in turning herself to ice even if Vivienne enjoyed the comfort.

That and… _cold_ …tea sounded disgusting.

As she suppressed a shiver, Eurydice’s ears twitched up at a sudden cheer coming from behind her. Following it was a louder than usual revelry; unabashed laughter, swearing, the grunts and hackling that she knew was at home in the Skyhold, but there was so much more to it. It was different today—instead of a wave of sounds, it was a tsunami crashing down on her ears.

She moved her head towards it and stepped out onto the balcony. “What is that?”

She heard Vivienne tsk behind her, “Tomfoolery, my dear. The temperature has given rise to some nonsense.” The taller woman sauntered up beside her, teacup still in hand, and peered over the railing with a grimace. “I believe someone spread news of a contest of sorts; if there is a semblance of it, however, I have not seen it.”

“…They are having fun? Is that what you mean? Fun?” Eurydice inquired as she leaned out over the stone railing and boosted herself on the tips of her toes.

“One might put it like that, yes.”

Thought the shade did a good deal in protecting her from the sun, she squinted against the brightness even still. The courtyard cooked in the sunlight, not even the slightest shadow enough to provide shelter. Yet the training ring had been assembled and was surrounded by a litter of warriors and rogues alike, blades and arrows glinting in the rays. Some sat back under a few shoddy tents while others braved the heat with arms and backs exposed, hanging over the ropes and sticks while they jeered and hollered at those fighting.

Two soldiers grappled in the center of the ring with their hands locked; they pushed at each other, their heels digging deep into the dry, baked gravel. One shoved hard enough to send the other off balance and stabbed her knee right between his ribs, stealing the air right of his lungs.

The crowd cheered incomprehensibly at the move.

With a hack, the soldier released his hands and doubled over, spitting on the ground. The other grinned and her lips moved, but whatever she said was lost to the rowdy thunder of voices about them. It didn’t matter; she hadn’t gotten to finish what Eurydice assumed was a witty retort.

The soldier threw his entire body at his opponent, grabbing her around the middle, and Eurydice watched as he violently tackled her to the ground. Despite the base of her skull colliding with the floor, the woman managed to wrestle with the other soldier, their sweat and dirt coated skin shining as they rubbed up against each other, creating an image far more erotic to the elf as the soldier shoved the other on his back and she straddled him with his arms above his head.

Either for the physical win or the strange sexual tension that could only be formed in the heat, the horde roared and the woman lifted her fists above her head in victory, her teeth bared in a smug grin.

“It’s an absurd entertainment, my dear. Nothing we need concern ourselves with.” Vivienne asserted as she sipped her tea. Nevertheless, she still observed the match in spite of her supposed displeasure. “Let us go back inside.”

Eurydice flexed her fingers across the stone and would have followed if not for hearing a familiar voice rise above the commotion.

“— _alright_ , enough with the two of you. Up now!”

She could spot him easily in the crowd. Cullen shoved his way through to the center of the ring, his dark golden hair brilliant and tousled.

He was odd—of course he looked odd, as he grabbed the winning soldier by the arm and hurled her to her feet, because there was no armor nor fur mantle to shield him from her, or anyone else’, eyes. Even the Commander, so committed to professionalism even in the face of near exhaustion, had removed his shirt and exposed his sun-kissed skin and toned body to the open, leaving only his pants, armored boots, and belt on.

It was hard to take her eyes off his movements—the faster he became without the hindrance of the bulky breastplate, the way his shoulders rolled back when he stood up straight, the ripple of his shining muscles—and she swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry.

Blood rushed up her neck and to her ears as she dragged her sharp teeth over her bottom lip, suddenly overwhelmed by the hot air, her mind flying to the thought of Cullen’s ragged voice, the one he had when dragged her teeth over his salty skin and bite down while he—

Eurydice tugged on her hair hard and ignored the lush sensation pulsing between her thighs.

The Commander went on with little awareness of her predicament. He clapped the winning soldier on the back, saying something to her, and then pointed to the soldier on the ground. He jabbed his thumb up, gesturing for the man to stand, and turned his glare onto the rest of the crowd.

“Come on, the lazy lot of you. Who’s next?” He barked. There was a mutter, some pushing between other fighters, before Cullen yanked two at random out of the crowd and signaled them to begin.

He walked back to his spot next to Cassandra, who wore little but a thin sleeveless shirt and her leather pants. The two chattered among themselves as they scrutinized the newest match—Cullen picking up a rag from atop a barrel behind him to run across his chest and over his neck as Cassandra sneered and ran her fingers through her matted hair.

Eurydice could feel Vivienne peering at her, shredding her skin with her eyes, and if she had brought her gaze up, she might have seen the woman quirking one of her eyebrows at her.

Fidgeting from side to side, Eurydice started to stim with her hair again, combing through it repeatedly. “I will go down there. The Commander looks thirsty. I will get him water.” She stated plainly and licked her own lips.

Vivienne clicked her tongue, “You are the Inquisitor. Why must  _you_  bring him water? He has plenty of able-bodied men—” As she said that, there came a cry from the ring as one of the men went sailing through the air and into a wall. She rolled her eyes. “— _some_  still, nevertheless, to fetch him some.”

“Because. Because…” Eurydice combed her hair harder and stared at Cullen’s arms when he crossed them, “They will not bring it to him cold. I can make it cold. He needs it cold.”

Vivienne’s cup clicked against the railing as she set it down. “…perhaps. I could do without the bodily reek, however. You’ll forgive me if I stay behind, darling.” She sighed gently.

Eurydice peeked at her from the corner of her eye and, after a second or two of silence, let go of her hair and walked back towards the door.

As she did, she heard Vivienne speak.

“Should you desire to join me later,  _please_  bathe first.”

\--

The water from the well in the garden had run its course with the temperature as well. Lukewarm was the better term for what the water was, though the Inquisitor was vaguely sure it had been hot enough for an uncomfortable bath. Still, it was the best she could do.  

Crouching down to her knees on the main stairway, she dipped her hand into the water and let the cold spell pour from her veins to the edge of her fingertips. Rings of frost spread out and then dissolved in the liquid until Eurydice blew out an icy breath and released the spell, taking her hand from the wooden bucket. Not too much, she warned herself, it wouldn’t do to make the water so cold that it froze Cullen from his stomach out to his skin.

She brought wet fingers to her mouth to see if it was cold enough then took the handle in both hands and stood up, starting her path down the stairs.

The training was still at its height, the crowd around the ring even bigger than she had first seen up on the balcony. The current mood distracted from any shock or awe that followed with her appearance, her soldiers apparently too preoccupied with what, if she heard right, was Bull taking on four men and head locking them all at the same time.

The hot combination of perspiration, blood, dirt, and a hint of liquor saturated the air, hanging it thick over her head as she hesitated to push into the swarm of sticky, eager bodies.

She wrinkled her nose at it, wondering if any of them even noticed how they stunk.

Looking around, she saw Cullen walking at the border of the crowd, watching his men from a new angle as to avoid appearing as the mother hen looming threateningly over his chicks. The rag he had been using was thrown over his shoulder now; it appeared to have helped none, however, as Eurydice could see the sheen of sweat on his shoulders, his chest hair wet against his skin. His hair had come undone from its neat style; it was now loose, damp, a hue of messy golden curls, probably freed after one too many times of Cullen running his fingers through it.

Eurydice felt her hands itch at the thought. She wanted to hook all those curls between her fingers and scratch until she felt Cullen’s breath hitch against her skin and he would  _purr_ —

No. Stop.  _Now_.

Her ears twitched as a sudden burst of warmth spread throughout her body, distractingly to her core, as she forced her legs to move toward him.

“Cullen.”

His shoulders stiffened and he turned around with his famed scowl etched into his features, no doubt expecting an unfortunate subordinate to be the one distracting him from his inspection.

There was a change him when he saw her. A relaxation of sorts, though he resisted in losing his complete composure. The word was…softer—she saw the word in one of Varric’s books once. He was softer around her. Like, like a cloud she could touch.

It was…nice.

A shy smile, “Inquisitor. It’s good to see you...” then he remembered who  _he_  was and who  _she_ was and, more importantly (to him),  _who_  could see them. Cullen faltered and his mouth twisted about as he rubbed his rough palm up his neck and to the back of his head. “I—er—that is. I did not…expect you to join us in such weather. It’s—it is not typical for you take interest in the soldier's’ training.”

“It was distracting.”

“Distracting?”

“Loud.” Eurydice flicked one of her ears to prove her point, her eyes settling on Cullen’s chest and following a trail of sweat from his collarbone and down between his pecs.

She wanted to lick it.

Cullen was hard pressed to notice; her eyes always roamed about and rarely did they land anywhere near his face, with the exception of his lip scar. His attention had returned to the loud mass behind him as he took hold of his sword hilt and sighed.

“Yes. The temperature is creating some issues today. I had thought the training might give them all something to think about otherwise but as it were, it has created something of a ruckus. It has gotten worse since Bull arrived and Sera—Maker  _that_  one—began screaming out these inane dares.” He swept his hand along his forehead as he spoke and frowned. “If it is troublesome, I can put a stop to the whole thing this instant.”

“No. They are having fun, are they not? It is fun? Let them be.”

There was a swell of laughter from the ring as a voice announced, “Nine out of Ten! Pay up!” and they both knew it to be Varric getting in on the action. Mostly because they heard Cassandra’s infuriated shout follow suit.

Cullen let out an irritated noise, looking to the heavens for some kind of assistance, and responded. “It’s not supposed to be  _fun_ —it’s sparring—it’s—” Pinching the bridge of his nose, the Commander set his jaw and looked back at Eurydice, “Forgive me. Is there something you require of me?”

Eurydice lifted her arms and presented the bucket. “This is for you. I cooled it… You looked as if you needed it.”

She was trying hard not to stare, not to ‘ogle’, if that was the word, but when she heard him exhale, a little relieving chuckle on the end, she looked back at his mouth and he was smiling. It made her heart beat jump, her fingers itching again to touch him, the tips of her ears burning.

All from a smile.

“You…you needn’t concern yourself with me, Inquisitor.” Cullen said gratefully, taking the bucket by the sides.

“I bought it because you will not get it yourself.” She countered as she dropped her arms, “You must watch your health.”

He seemed to want to fight her on that, frowning down at the water. “I am fine. I’m…” He stopped short, probably aware that there was no point, and sighed. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

Eurydice nodded and flexed her fingers at her side, fisting them in her dress.

She watched him as he brought the bucket close to his face and bent down to take a sip. He stopped, however, regarding the water with an unreadable look. Then he held the bucket up and dumped it all over his head.

To Eurydice, it felt like it unfolded in slow motion. The water flowed down his head and over the slope of his neck like a waterfall. It poured down his chest and back, soaking the waistline of his pants, the enticing trails of it flowing down every inch of his muscles. The sound that came out of his mouth was that ecstasy, as if he hadn’t felt the cold embrace of the liquid for years, and Eurydice watched, enraptured, as he threw his head back, exposing his now wet throat to her, and shook the water from his head like a dog would after coming in from the rainfall.

“Ah, Maker,  _much_ better.”

The elf froze, her nails nearly tearing in her dress, as her eyes scanned over the entire plain of her lover’s body. He was wet, deliciously so, and all Eurydice could think of was running her tongue over his skin, catching the drops so she could quench her thirst.

What would be like if he pressed up against her now and sunk into her, his skin dripping and freezing and somehow still searing?

Eurydice wanted to moan, she could feel it rising up in her throat, as she felt her cunt ache for him.

Instead, she said, “That was unnecessary.” She detached her hand from her skirt and pointed at the bucket, “I got that for you to  _drink_.”

Cullen unabashedly scrubbed his hands through his now completely drenched hair, loose curls springing to life between his fingers, with a crooked pleased grin. “Sorry. It did its job—Andraste, I needed that.” He stood up straight and closed his eyes, pushing his damp hair flat and then running his hands down his neck with a throaty groan.

The sound made Eurydice rub her thighs together, feeling herself becoming slick.

Did he know what he was doing to her? Eurydice’s eyes followed beads of water slipping over his exposed hip bones and she was convinced he was. Tempting her. Cullen wouldn’t drench himself otherwise, she thought to herself, not when others could be watching.

Not when it could be deemed as improper in his head.

“Inquisitor?”

He sounded so innocent and it made her feel the heat tenfold.

_He is doing this on purpose._

As Eurydice worked to peel her tongue from the roof of her mouth and respond to him, the crowd dispersed behind them, soldiers drifting off into pairs and hiding off towards the more shaded parts of the courtyard.

“Cullen!” Cassandra yelled.

The two turned toward the direction of her voice and Cullen squinted against the sunlight, covering his face as he yelled back, “What?”

The Seeker had remained in the same spot as before, though this time, in the wooded shadows Varric inclined back on a bench, looking rather pleased with himself for some reason. Cassandra, on the other hand, sported an annoyed expression. “We are taking a short break!” It was not a suggestion.

“A  _break_?” Cullen frowned and started back towards her, “I didn’t authorize any— _ooff_! Inquisitor!”

Eurydice hooked a finger in one of his belt loops and yanked him back. “Sit down. I will get you water. To drink.”

 _That_ was not a suggestion either.

She gave Cullen little room to argue with her (or for her to spot that crossed expression he shot her) as she walked off. Conveniently, she didn’t have to go far for another bucket; one of the shabby tents had a few barrels full in the case someone fainted from dehydration. The temperature, however, wasn’t much better than the well’s; she felt like she was sticking her hand into used bath water.

Another cooling spell, then.

Putting the bucket into a barrel, she filled it to the brim and then wound both arms around it, hugging it to her chest. Among the soldiers it was easy to find Cullen again; he had found a stump to sit on and was using his soaked towel to wipe his face again. As she approached him, Cullen started to stand and take the bucket.

“Here, let me—”

“No.” She said adamantly, swerving away from his touch. Some of the water splashed over her arm and side of her dress; she could feel it on her skin, but she didn’t care much. Cullen flattened his lips into a straight line and rolled his eyes at her but he sat back down without protest. Eurydice stood beside the stump and balanced the bucket with her left hand while she quietly summoned an ice spell with her other.

Stubbornly she was determined to keep her wits about her until she was done with it—give no more to whatever Cullen was clearly trying to do to her senses.

She’d keep her eyes on that patch of grass and nothing more.

…then Cullen let out a husky groan and her eyes snapped to his beautiful, massive, scarred, and still drenched back that she wanted to dig her nails into—

The frost from the spell bit into her knuckles as it spread into the water too quick and too powerfully. Eurydice hissed and attempted to control the magic, shifting from right foot to left and accidentally splashing the front of herself again. Her cheeks burned.

“Are you alright?” Cullen asked, turning on the stump, “Your face is red. Perhaps you need the water more than I. I can do without it.”

The spell settled back under her skin.

“I am fine, Cullen. The weather here is little more than an inconvenience. My constitution is also better than yours.”

“Is it now?” There was an edge to his voice; a chuckle of what sounded like self-depreciation followed after it.

It took her a full minute of detangling her thoughts to realize that what she had said might be  _offending_.

“I did not mean that as an insult.”

“No, I understood what you meant. Cassandra gave me some trouble earlier on about it—but as I told her, it does my health and mind better to be out here. To let myself stew with those thoughts…” He shook his head and smiled to himself, “but we cannot all be as lucky as you to be able to put the heat behind us. I wonder how you do it.”

He said that as if he wondered how she did everything she did. How she continued to awe him.

Eurydice stared into the water, “I am used it. Where my clan traveled had much more difficult summers—drier, the sort of heat that drives one mad. Here there is at least wind.”

“Ah, yes, I remember…Kirkwall’s summers were also very unpleasant. I recall cooking in my armor at one point. Some men passed out during their routes. Compared to that, this is almost delightful.”

“Hm…” It should have stopped there but Eurydice’s mouth opened and out came words she didn’t even know she had within her. “It helps that I am not wearing anything under this dress.”

Normally this would just be a fact. Normally, it would not fill her with this stabbing split of white-hot embarrassment down her middle.

Eurydice was abundantly aware of how not ‘normal’ this entire situation was.   

The statement tumbled between the two like a pin on a marble floor. It hit Cullen as if she had just struck him with a lightning spell, his entire body tensing as a fresh red flush climbed up his chest to his head. “You—” He choked on the word. She felt his eyes tear holes into her, tracing the lines of her silhouette through the opaque fabric of her dress, peeling away the damp material that clung to her front.

She risked peeking at his eyes and watched as the color of whiskey changed to something severe, darkening with arousal, his pupils dilating as they ravaged every inch of her body and sent a desperate licking up her spine and deep inside her—

Eurydice dumped the entire bucket of water over his head.

Startled, the Commander yelped as the devastatingly freezing water washed over him. He splattered something that might’ve sounded like Eurydice’s name but the liquid had rushed into his mouth and up his nose as he abruptly got to his feet and tossed his head from right to left. “F- _Fuck_ —!” He managed between coughs but if there was anything more—a lecture or just a demand for an explanation—Eurydice didn’t stick around to find out.

The bucket dropped from her hands and she was off as if her feet were on fire—and with the heat coursing over her skin and down to her core, the elf wouldn’t have been surprised if they were.

It didn’t occur to her until she ran behind some of the tents and crouched next to one of the stone walls that what she had done wasn’t exactly the ‘proper response’ to her lover gawking at her. Factually, she was aware that it hadn’t been the first time something like this happened and knew it wouldn’t be the last.

But it had been too much, you see. Too overwhelming, too fast, too way out of her depth for her to catch up.

And she was convinced, as she put the metal chain between her teeth and stimmed by running the coin up and down it, feeling the vibration through her teeth, that Cullen knew what he had been doing to her the entire time.

 _Teasing_  her.

She wanted to tease him back—she wanted his cock straining in his pants, his every sense and thought on her body, her dripping cunt, the sound of her keen when he slid into her, wishing he could take her now, hard, rough and fast—she wanted to do to  _him_  what he was doing to  _her_.

The bucket thing had just been by impulse. A spark in her mind that commanded her to do a quick pause.

It had, in retrospect, been a bad impulse.

She bit down on the chain and weakly growled, her toes digging into the dirt because this—sitting down in the shade rather than on Cullen’s lap—was not what she wanted. As she knotted her fingers in her hair and picked her head up, Eurydice saw something piled up under one of the nearby tents. Dropping her chain from her mouth, she got to her legs and strolled over to it, one of her eyebrows quirked up in curiosity.

She recognized the mantle first; underneath it was Cullen’s breastplate, his spaulders, vambraces, and couters huddled together in a precise row on his shirt and chainmail. Eurydice bent down and drew her thumb over the hollows of one of spaulders. Grabbing the mantle by the scruff of the dense fur, she gathered it up in her arms and cradled it to her chest.

She caught a whiff from it as she brought it closer to her face; the lingering scent of his sweat, the earthy aroma of the oakmoss in his hair product, and something else. It was his—heady, intoxicating, like fresh rain on wood. It entwined itself on her sheets and in her pillows; at night she’d press her nose to it and be enveloped in his ghost.

It was an addictive scent.

She brought the fur to her lips, kissing it, wishing the coarse texture was Cullen’s stubble rubbing against her cheek.

And then she got an idea.

\--

Rationally, Cullen knew better than to let himself get distracted by certain…things. Inappropriateness aside, there was work to be done. There wasn’t time to get dazed at the image of his Inquisitor nude and begging for him to— _dammit_!

Dammit, dammit,  _dammit_ —Maker preserve him!

Cullen bit the inside of his cheek hard and scowled for what might’ve been the umpteenth time, scaring the living daylights out of the two rookies currently sparring. He had been the nastiest mood since the end of break, putting each and every person who stepped into the ring through rigorous command after command— _shield up_ ,  _sword down, you call that a punch_ ,  _think about your left side, man—harder, faster, give it all you got or I’ll have you swinging a wooden sword at a dummy into the wee hours of the night until you do it bloody well right!_

It had was obvious to anyone that whatever went on between the Inquisitor and the Commander had driven that lengthy stick up his ass higher—though Varric, ever the annoyingly perceptive one, was on to a working theory that it wasn’t anger or the heat currently making Cullen red in the face.

Cullen was considering throwing the dwarf over the fortress walls but that seemed more trouble than it was worth. He wasn’t about to have an outraged Hawke on his hands for one minute of dignity and quiet.

Moreso than aggravation, it galled him that Varric was right—that it wasn’t the brutal sun baking him alive that was getting to him but the nagging of his hardening cock in his suddenly too tight breeches and the vexing thought of Eurydice shameless parading around in a dress that hardly covered her virtue. He did his best to ignore it; he pushed, he ranted, he scolded, and sparred, hoping that the sound of his own voice and the clatter of blades might drown out everything else.

But there was her damned voice, soft and sensual in his ear, following him around no matter what he did:  _‘It helps that I am not wearing anything under this dress.’_

His cock twitched and he growled because she was teasing him, she  _had_  to be, and then she ran away.  _After_  dousing him with cold water and that hadn’t done much except leave him confused and lusting after her swinging hips, tantalizingly shaped in that sheer skirt.

That—that little—

“Enough!” Cullen shouted, throwing one of his hands in the air, “I am ending it here. Training is over! Clear out—to your posts if you have them!”

There was a collective relief from the crowd, though some (those with bets probably) whined in disappointment as everyone slowly separated and went on their way; some for water, others for ale, very few with the intention to actually go and do some work until the sun lessened its intensity.  

Cullen, if he was being quite honest, didn’t care where any of them went at the moment. He wanted to be back his tower, in the privacy of his loft, where he could fuck his fist until the image of Eurydice writhing under him got out of his mind and he could get back to work.

First, however, his armor.

Cullen heaved a sigh as he moved around the remaining men towards his tent, somewhat dreading putting his things back on. The chainmail alone would be a chore to deal with; perhaps he could forgo it all if he stays in his office. Wear a light tunic until he had to leave to speak to Leliana. It was a plan.

Trouble was, none of his things were where he left them. Cullen glared at the offending spot, absolutely positive that he had put everything down right there. In fact, he explicitly put them there to keep them out of the sun, sure that if he left them out, they’d be too hot to touch later.

So where in the name of the Maker’s Blessed Bride were they?

He searched around the tent, wondering if perhaps they had been moved behind one of the barrels or benches. It led to nothing.

Cullen grit his teeth; no one would be brazen enough to steal his things, would they?

Less they were Sera.

Maker’s breath—not  _Sera._

Cullen regarded one of the soldiers nearby and called to him, “You there! I left my armor in this spot and now it is gone. Did you see anyone come near here?”

The soldier stood to attention but only shook his head, “No, Commander. I was over by the ring the entire time.”

Another soldier peeked her head out from the adjoining tent. “I saw the Inquisitor by there before, Ser. I believe she was getting water.”

“The Inquisitor?” Cullen questioned and then it dawned on him.

Because of course it was  _her_.

Turning on his heel, the Commander made a beeline for the staircase, fuming all the way.

\--

“Eurydice!”

The door slammed shut behind him but Eurydice offered barely any acknowledgment at the intrusion aside from her ears jerking at the loud noise. She remained motionless otherwise, hovering in front of her desk with a scroll in her hand—a report, though she was hardly reading whatever it was. Her eyes flickered off the paper as Cullen reached the top of the stairs with his boots thudding with every step.

He was scowling at her; sweat was dripping down his face, his breath labored as he glared at her.

Eurydice slid her gaze back to the scroll, playing with the edges of it. “What is it, ena’vun? You are being very loud. Too loud.”

He huffed, “Where are they?” He grounded out, his feet cracking against the wood as he moved closer to her.

“They? Who is ‘they’? I do not who you mean.”

“The—” He stopped, resisting the urge to snap at her, “My things. My armor, my shirt, my mantle. I know you took them and I demand you return them.  _Now_.”

“Oh.” Eurydice uttered. She was lying, she knew what he meant. She was just…playing ‘coy’. That was it, right? ‘Coy’. Melia, her sister, once told her about it; that it drove certain people crazy to act innocent. It was  _alluring_.

Eurydice put the paper down on the paper and shrugged her shoulders. “I do not know where they are. Maybe I threw them over the balcony.”

“You… _what_?! Why?”

Eurydice grabbed a handful of hair and twisted it around, staring at the rug between Cullen’s feet. “It is your fault. You were teasing me.”

That seemed to stump the Commander; he fought to find his words, stumbling over them wildly. “That…! Y-you— _I_  was teasing  _you_?!” He spat, “Hardly! I-I assure you I was not—”

“Yes, you were! You s-splashed yourself.” Her fingers twisted her hair harder as Eurydice lost some of her control over her words, thinking back on what he was doing to her and now he was lying. “Y-you did. You were playing with me.”

“Maker’s breath, it’s  _hot_ , Eurydice! I was trying to cool myself off.”

“No, you were teasing me! Yes, teasing! I know you were!”

She rubbed her thighs together, feeling his heated glare on her again, knowing he could see how absolutely drenched she was.

Cullen clenched his fists at his side and bared his teeth, “I was  _not_. The only one doing any ‘playing’ here was you, Inquisitor—or did you expect me to ignore your little comment about what is  _not_  under your dress?” He moved, his shoulders set as he stalked toward her menacingly, his intense stare cutting her to shreds. “Did you even care, I wonder, about whether anyone would see? Did you enjoy flaunting about in barely  _nothing_? Maker, all I could think was how simple it would be to tear that dress from your body and fuck you until you didn’t have a voice left. How  _good_  you would look bouncing on my cock.”

There was a trace of darkness in his words underneath the fury. It surged through Eurydice, lighting her skin aflame, as he advanced on her, forcing her to stumble backward until she hit her desk and had no room to run from him again. Cullen placed his hands on either side of her on the desk, trapping her against his chest.

“You’re a brazen little vixen, Inquisitor, distracting your Commander like that.”

Eurydice whined and squirmed as he whispered that into her ear, his hot breath sending tingles down her back and giving her goosebumps. His body was solid pressed up against hers, reeking with a mix of his sweat and arousal. Heart beating rapidly in her chest, Eurydice craned her head up and stared into Cullen’s eyes—whiskey brown consumed by the black of his pupils, piercing into her with a savage lust.

For her—he was undone, furious, yearning for  _her_.

And, greedily, she wanted more of it—more of him, swallowing him down until she couldn’t take him in any longer.

With agonizing slowness, Eurydice pressed her lips to Cullen’s with a gentle chasteness that must have seemed almost mocking. Cullen clearly though it was; the sound of his snarl vibrated through her. Good, that’s what Eurydice wanted. Her lips curled upward as she opened her mouth and bit down on Cullen’s bottom lip— _hard_. She felt him still under her hands as she licked and then sucked on his lip.

The animalistic noise he made when he knotted his fingers through her hair and forced her lips apart with his tongue was absolutely delicious.

Eurydice made a sound of delight as she snaked her arms around his neck and grabbed a fist full of his hair, damp curls laced between her fingers as she tugged and demanded more. He kissed her like he was trying to devour her, feeling the scrap of his teeth as his tongue darted around hers, tasting her, dragging the very breath from her lungs.

Not at all the careful, precise kiss of a man who wasn’t sure what was too much—he was going to take, take, take her piece by piece and she was going to let him.

As the hot brush of his tongue yanked a moan out of her, Eurydice could feel the rough drag of his hand on her thighs, slipping under her skirt. With practiced ease, he grabbed her just below the bottom and picked her up, pushing her onto her desk without breaking their mouths apart. She heard things falling to the floor but she cared little about it—no, what she cared about was how Cullen was spreading her legs apart and pushing himself between them until she felt the shape of his cock through his pants against her slit.

 _Creators_ —she moaned into his mouth—when he bucked his hips and a shock of pleasure cut through her.

Oh, the friction was so good—she returned the gesture, locking her legs around his waist. “A- _gain,_ ” She managed to wetly slur and gasped when he did just that, squeezing her ass.

Cullen chuckled as he pulled away from the kiss, surveying his work of her swollen lips and flushed, hazed expression with smug satisfaction. He dipped his head again, lavishing the corners of her mouth, her cheeks, her jawline with open mouth caresses, the burn of his stubble tingling her skin.

He smiled into her skin as his teeth grazed her ears, nipping playfully, his tongue tracing the shell and the tip. He asked her,  _“like that?”_  and she answered with a pathetic mewl because he knew what he was doing—that her ears were sensitive and his touch always made her pussy slick, begging for his attention.

That, once, just from his hands and mouth alone on her ears, he brought her to a trembling orgasm.

He blew a puff of air on her red ear tips and made her shiver in his arms, unaware that one of his hands had stopped kneading her ass cheeks and was slithering between her thighs.

He fingered her weeping folds with one coarse digit—deliberately slow, he laughed when she tried to rock against him.

“Look at you—you’re a flood and I’ve barely touched you.” Cullen whispered wickedly into her ear, his tone laced with honey. “Little overeager minx is what you are.” He kissed her underneath the ear as his finger slipped into her.

Eurydice shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut. Hot. It was so hot. The air between them was dense, Cullen’s body scorching hers. Her toes curled as she reached down and grabbed his wrist so he couldn’t stop and move away.

Under the hand still caressing his broad back, she felt his shoulders quake with his cruel snickers. “Patience, Inquisitor.” He scolded, then he drove in a second finger and curled them, stretching her wide. Squeaks dropped out of her open mouth as she grinded against his hands and raked her nails across his shoulders, leaving lovely fresh welts in her wake. Cullen pushed her back and forth between the hand working her cunt and the hand groping her ass, leaving her a slave to his merciless pace.

Not enough, though. There wasn’t enough. Not hard, not fast, not full  _enough_.

She opened her eyes and racked ravenously down his body—his heaving, rising chest covered with his sweat, the trail leading down his stomach, settling on that big belt.

She licked her lips and squeezed his hand. “Din, din,  _din_ , ena’vun. Stop.” The elvish came in a jumble, awkward on her tongue, but it got his attention. Cullen’s hand froze in her, his fingers turning lax, as he pulled back and gave her an almost panicked expression.

“What? What is it? Did I hurt you?” He asked earnestly. His eyes searched her body, her face, looking for any sign of discomfort or pain, but Eurydice could only send back a hazed, almost drunken look.

Ah, he was so cute.

“I am fine—I just…I want…” Eurydice gazed at his crotch again and it sent an ache down to her pussy. Carefully, she guided his hand out of her and marveled at how wet his fingers were. Her juices coated him all the way up his knuckles.

Bringing his hand closer, she opened her mouth and licked along Cullen’s finger slowly and said, “Nuvenan avan ma’edhis sule bre’garas in br’av.”

He sucked in a harsh breath, his voice caught his throat, and she smiled.

She’s said that enough times for him to know what that means.

When he didn’t answer fast enough, Eurydice pulled the two drenched fingers into her mouth and gently sucked on them, her tongue running over each joint, tasting her juices. She held his wrist tight, keeping it there, pulling nearly off the digits and then drawing them back in, her lips touching his knuckles.

“ _Merciful fucking Andraste_ , w-would you just—”

She dragged her teeth over them and sucked harder.

“Eurydice,  _please_.”

That was it. With a sloppy slurp, Eurydice released his fingers and pushed herself off the desk and onto her feet. Once, then twice, she tugged on Cullen’s hand to nudge him into following her. It confused him for a second, possibly his brain was trying to work around the ‘what’ and ‘why’ until he realized that she was trying to get him to the bed. He came if only awkwardly and went down easy when she turned him around and then tackled him onto the mattress, sinking him into the plush and fur sheets with a kiss.

Eurydice straddled his hips as she sat up. The dress was in the way—loose and wrinkled, it hung distracting over her near flat breasts and down her arms. As she reached down to take it off, Cullen attempted to help her; she shoved his hand away.

“ _Din_. No. Do not move. Stay.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, “Am I expected to just watch?”

“Yes. For now.”

Then she pulled the dress over her head and she was free—bare only for his hungry eyes. They stared at each other as if it was breech in reality—as if they had never been here before, in this position, with her wanting and stretched, him solid and throbbing. Eurydice was the first to break the spell; she peered down at his belt and put her hands on it. He watched her as she undid it and carefully removed it out from under waist, sword and sheath connected still. Neither of them cared when she dropped it over the side of the bed and it made a heavy clang in protest.

Eurydice splayed her fingers out over his stomach and sighed contently. Yes, finally. This was what she wanted.

She dipped her head down and started kissing his neck, licking his adam’s apple, loving how it bobbed under her tongue when he swallowed and moaned. Her fingers threaded through the hair of his chest as she grazed her teeth along the columns of his beautiful throat, licking up the sweat, tasting his skin with careful, if not outright tortuous, devotion.

His jaw clenched when she tweaked one of his nipples. She bit down on his shoulder, her teeth sinking into warm flesh, the blood on the tip of her tongue.

He jumped, “F-fuck!” His voice sounded hoarse, “Would you—get  _on_  with it?” She felt one of his hands rest on the curve of her back but he made no move otherwise to urge her on.

So she closed her eyes and kept licking at the new bite, watching it bloom red. She lifted her head, her tongue darting out over her lips sensually. “Patience, Cullen. That is what you told me, did you not?” She ran her fingers up her neck and into her hair, rocking her hips against his clothed cock. "Patience."

It drew another swear out of him, the Commander throwing his head back and gritting his teeth. “I swear upon the Maker, I will—”

“Shh.” Was all she said as placed her finger on Cullen’s mouth and bent her head back down. Drawing her hair behind her ear, Eurydice kissed his collarbone and lead a trail down to his nipple. She paused and ran her tongue around it, lapping at the nub until it hardened, then suckled on it sweetly. It made Cullen groan again, a single voice in the quiet of her quarters—her spoiled Commander, even if he would deny it furiously.

She’d do anything just to hear his noises, watch him unravel underneath her caresses.

Letting go, Eurydice furthered her journey down his body, blindly finding drops of perspiration and lapping it up, lips tracing along his striking scars. As she came to the golden trail that descended under his pants, the elf stopped and picked her head up.

The bulge was bigger now, straining in the confines of the leather. She touched it, drawing one finger up the length of it delicately. Cullen was restless underneath her; she could see his fists balled in the sheets, resisting to touch her with all his power. Peering at him under her eyelashes, Eurydice undid the laces of pants and breeches, yanking them apart to free his swollen, blushing cock.

She looked him right in the eye when she dragged her tongue up the underside of his shaft and reveled in his noisy excitement.

Spreading his legs wider, Eurydice wrapped her hand around Cullen’s cock and stroked it sharply, her mouth moving down to his balls. Her tongue ran down along one of them, tracing their shape, teasing the wrinkled skin. Her thumb circled the head, lightly prodding the leaking slit and smearing his pre-cum about.

Cullen bucked his hips into her soft hand. Stubborn strangled sounds emitted from his closed mouth; he was fighting her, trying not to fill the empty spaces with his erotic wails. It was a losing battle; as soon as her tongue slithered over the head of his thick cock, his mouth opened again and he shouted her name. She swirled her tongue about it, breathing on it, catching each and every dribble of pre-cum that escaped his slit.

Salty, warm, the overpowering flavor of it made her crave more and more. His moans danced along her skin, her neglected pussy dripping with need.

Eurydice opened her mouth wider, wrapped her lips around his head, and sucked sharply.

“S-sh-it! Eur-yd- _ice_ —!”

The musky scent of him filled her nostrils as she worked her mouth down farther on his length. She was never good at taking him in fully, although she tried every time. Her head bobbed up and down, salvia escaping her lips as his cock touched the back of her throat.

The sounds she was making—her muffle whimpers and moans—that must have sounded so obscene to him. She couldn’t help it.

She wanted more.

 _Fenedhis_ , she wanted him coming down her throat, painting it white and leaving his taste in her for days.

Her hand found his balls again and rolled them between her fingers, massaging them in time with the slick, wet pump of her head. Cullen’s cock swelled inside of her, the vein that lined along the shaft throbbing in the plush of her tongue. The Commander could not restrain himself any longer; he was moaning without a single hint of shame or resistance, watching her between his sweaty, powerful thighs. His hands were in her hair, pushing her bangs from her forehead so he could see her glassy violet eyes.

He didn’t yank, didn’t tear at her hair—even on the edge, he knew she hated that. He was gentle, his fingers scratching ever so slightly at her scalp. He squeezed his eyes shut and choked.

“Eurydice—fuck, fuck, M-maker—don’t. I’m.”

Eurydice hummed in understanding. She could feel his balls tightening in her hand and down deeper she went, sucking him until his back arched off the bed and Cullen was coming down her throat with a shattering yell—a wonderful quaking shriek that called the stars to pay heed.

Eurydice made no sound as she swallowed best she could, milking him until he softened on her tongue and she couldn’t stay down any longer. With a sudden breath, she sat up, come still heavy in her mouth and sliding down her chin. Hungrily, she tried to catch it with her hands and lick it up with a tiny mewl.

Cullen lay with his chest heaving, his blackened eyes half-lidded. She wanted to ask if he was spent—he looked it—but then he reached out and she was thrown underneath him in one swift motion.

“Satisfied with yourself?” He asked between erratic pants. Eurydice blinked at him slowly and then, as an answer, pulled him close for a kiss. Traces of the cum still coated her tongue. Insistently she wiggled her way into his mouth to share the taste of him, moaning when he kissed her back thoroughly.

It was dizzying, the heat and smell of sex clinging to them, thrilling her. In a brattish sort of way, she tried to keep him from breaking the kiss, her lips following after him pitifully when he pulled himself away but he pinned her to the mattress with little problem.

Eurydice groaned plaintively.

“Hold on, would you? Let me catch my breath.” Cullen’s voice cracked but his tone was soft, perhaps leaning on the side of tender. He brushed the hair from her forehead and kissed it; for the most part, the action settled the elf down, though her fingers still clawed and groped, trying to hold him to her as a child would a toy she didn’t want anyone else to play with.

His cock pressed insistently against her thigh, wet yet still there was a life to it. A twitch when she dared move, shifting to tangle her legs with his. Cullen seized her hips roughly to keep her from moving.

“You’re an insatiable thing. If you had it your way, you’d ride me raw until there was nothing left in me, wouldn’t you?”

Eurydice hummed—the thought of her pumping up and down on him, torturing him in any way she wanted, was enticing.  _But_. “What I want is for you to fill me up again, eva’vun. Until it’s  _pouring_  out of me.”

Above her Cullen’s body tensed—she watched the way his back went rigid, the flex in his arms, felt his grip on her hip bone grow harsh, his short nails digging into her skin until it hurt. His face changed with his body—it was the mask of battle she knew so well, the steely look of her Commander at her war table, outraged by the promise of war yet awaken by the scent of steel, the splatter of blood, the buzz of him standing among the chaos and winning once more.

His lips sneered, that scar she adored so splitting down—the lips of a lion released from his cage and looking for his next meal.

Her cunt throbbed and she turned her head to the side, whispering into the pillow “Is that not what you want?”

More. More. She wanted more.

Eurydice dipped her hands down her body and ran it down between her legs, spreading the lips of her vulva apart and feeling her juices flow out. She slowly fingered her clit, wetting her lips as she touched it—but as she did, Cullen’s hand clamped down on hers firmly.

His eyes flashed at her as he pinned her hand above her head and growled, “What I want is to fuck you until all you can scream is my name and nothing else."

His voice—Creators, his voice pushed her to the edge of sanity. If she could be fucked by the ferocity of his voice, she would drown in bliss and never breathe air again.

Falling quiet, Eurydice turned to a puddle under his touch as he cupped one of her breasts and kneaded it. A coo came out of her, watching him through slit eyes, as he slid down and drew her nipple into his mouth. Every flick of the tongue, every teasing nip, every suck had her arching, her legs spreading wider dutifully when his hands gripped her by the knee.

And there he was, leaving kisses on the inside of her knee, trailing his mouth up her thigh, biting and leaving evidence of his attention behind. He was perfect there, his tongue gliding up her skin, burning hot, making her heart beat in her chest, her hands yearning to grab those soft curls and tug, tug, tug, tug him closer to her soaking core.

Cullen didn’t even hesitant—with one long lick, he cut his tongue up between her folds, then plunged in, and she was at his absolute mercy.

“Cull—en!”

Did she taste that good, she wondered for a split second, if he was so intent on devouring her as he did?

His tongue relentless deep into her, his fingers spreading her lips wider so he could get at every angle, every corner, missing absolutely nothing before returning to fuck her cunt over and over again. Occasionally, he would dip his fingers back into her—roughly he would work the digits into her as he latched his mouth over her clit and he would suck on it as if it was a piece of candy, rolling it about, flicking it to make her back jolt and her cry out.

For her part, Eurydice was at her wit's end with the man. Legs thrown over his shoulders, she caged her thighs around his head and had risen up from the bed, wild gray hair stuck to her face by salvia, cum, and sweat alike. Her fingers could not find purchase on him—they splay down his neck, across his shoulders, in his hair, scratching, digging, stabbing, tugging—and all the while her body bowed around his head in her attempt to get closer to his mouth.

Oh, and the sounds. Never had she liked the sound of her voice—bland and shattered easily when it left her mouth. She bit her lip at first, trying to hold the noises in, a flush blooming from her ears to her neck to her shoulders, lighting her pale skin up.

But he kept sucking, making her clit swell and sensitive, his tongue driving her closer and closer to an indescribable bliss and so the sobs came out of her, racking her body, her thighs trembling from the pleasure.

“Cull—en—Cull— _en_ —!”

She rocked her hips against his mouth as a stream of elvish flooded out of her, “Sathan! Eva’vun, shem'el sathan! Sathan!  _Sathan!”,_ her wails bouncing off the walls. Eurydice closed her eyes tight as the sudden aching in her pulsed faster and faster—and she knew she was crashing, that he was drinking her feverishly, that he knew she was close.

She wanted a little more time—for what, she didn’t even know—but the burst of absolute ecstasy tremored through her as she came with a shuddering gasp, her fingers firmly in Cullen’s hai. White ate away at the edges of her unfocused vision, every limb on her feeling as if she were floating.

Cullen kept on lapping at her convulsing cunt for more of her juices and then he pulled away with a sloppy, deep gasp, his lips laced with her. Letting go of him, the elf went boneless against the bed, a puddle slipping through his fingers, weak and helpless as a newborn halla. Running his thumb along his lips, Cullen looked upon her with those dark whiskey burned eyes, tongue darting out of his mouth to clean his lips in much the same way a cat does after slurping at cooling milk.

She closed her eyes and turned her head into the pillow, trying to control herself.

There was a metallic clack and the familiar hush of fabric smoothing down skin. She heard the thud of his boots hitting the ground, his pants and breeches plopping on top in a careless heap—Cullen was wordless as he stalked up her body, his naked, drenched skin slick and burning against hers.

The sun could never compare to him; in her arms, he was gorgeous, with his scars and wrinkles, his ruined lips and baggy exhausted eyes, a body tarnished by addiction and hauntings and battle, reborn into a steel forged in the molten rock of his own stubborn hope. Brilliant, it overwhelmed her to hold him and yet she couldn’t let go—Cullen came and licked his way into her mouth and she let him, lazy and defenseless, content to take what he offered.

He was erect again—she felt it poking at her hip bone, still steeped in her shining salvia and his seed. Timidly, she reached down to caress the head with her finger and stroke it to fullness, watching with curiosity as Cullen’s face twisted with pleasure, gasping into her mouth.

“Stop.” He said gruffly and pinned her hands over her head again. He forced her to meet his narrowed eyes but Eurydice just innocently cocked her head.

“I was helping. Do you not like my help, eva’vun?”

“That wasn’t help—that was you playing  _again_. I just about at my wits end with you; you hardly deserve what you’ve been demanding all this time. I should punish you and leave.”

“I was only trying to make sure you were hard enough.”

“Oh, is that right? Then, tell me, Inquisitor—” He impaled her on his length and she tore at the bed, out of her a startled cry, “—is that  _hard_  enough for you?”

The glint of his teeth in the light could have been harrowing—anyone else might have seen them as deadly, the predatory look of a soldier who loved bathing in blood—but through her it sent a spike; a jerk of excitement that had her writhing and begging. There was no wait—hastily, he sunk into her slick cunt until their hips meet and he filled her to his hilt.

But he wouldn’t move.

Cullen laughed at her futile attempts to grind, to yank her hands from his one-handed grip, her impatient whines. Cupping her face, he brought her closer to him and mouthed one of her ears, sending shivers up her spine.

“Be good, love.” He teased and kissed her cheek, “I  _could_  stop. I have much work to do as you know.”

“L-liar. You c-can’t go.” She replied weakly.

“Can’t I?” His hips moved back, his cock sliding out of her, but Eurydice’s legs wrapped around his waist and tried to guide him back in. The motion made him gasped into her ear. “Sweet Maker—”

“Cullen—” She bucked her hips, “ _Please_.”

The bed creaked in protest when he thrust into her hard. Maybe that was punishment for all her little tortures throughout the day—or the last shred of his control bleeding away, giving way to his animalistic desire to fuck her into submission. Either way, Eurydice twisted in his hold as she let out a scream, his name mangled in her gasps.

His pace was brutal and mind-blowing. Every slam followed by a breathless and cruel taunt in her ear—a mutter about how cute she sounded, how pretty she looked with her legs spread just for him. That if he could’ve, he would have fucked her against the wall down in the courtyard, in front of everyone, so they could see what the Commander could do to the Inquisitor.

Oh, he would never, they both knew he was too professional for even the slightest peck, but the image of it—Eurydice’s dress sliced at the thigh, bundled to her stomach, her hands on the stone walls and her ass out as he pounded into her—seized them both.

Eurydice, for her part, was lost in the pace, bouncing about under him with barely coherent elvish streaming out of her. Her heartbeat roared in her ear, little whimpers and cries her sweet melody as her hips met and rocked and thighs squeezed and her abused cunt stretched from his length.

Cullen let go of her hands and wrapped his arms around her torso. With a grunt, he lifted her body up with his as he sat up and placed her on his lap.

The new angle—oh, it was so good. His cock hit her weak spot right on, ripping a sob out of her.

Eurydice spread her hands over his shoulders and her nails found home in the flesh of his back, slicing new angry marks that would bleed and made Cullen hiss in that wonderful cocktail of pleasure/pain.

“Pala em elvar’el…engh! F-fenedhis! M-more—s-sathan— _hngh_ —Creators—C-Cullen!” She said into the juncture of his neck and jaw, tongue pressed against his pulse line, tasting the strength of his heartbeat.

“F-fuck!” Cullen swore and rolled his hips harder, hands on her ass to force her up and down the way he wanted her. He bit and sucked down her neck and shoulders, small red spots bright on her pale skin, like a necklace of stunning rubies. It would make him flare up in embarrassment later at the war table when she would arrive with the marks shameless showing for all to see. For now, though, he drove himself balls deep into her, all that chaste holiness and pride a distant matter when she was clenching around him, their voices tangled together in a sweat dripped song of passion.  

“A-ah—Eurydice!”

Her body was tensing, madness clawing up inside her, and she knew she was speeding towards the end. He was too good, too fast, too perfect for her to understand anything other than his cock, his voice, his arms around her.

“Cullen-Cullen, Cullen, CullenCullen _Cullen_ —!” His name had become her prayer and she was at his altar on her knees begging for salvation. She keened as her cunt clenching around his cock and the holy mantra was abruptly cut off by her cry.

She was coming, her body a raw, open nerve, a victim of his onslaught as her contractions pulsed around him—and he kept going. He fucked her without pity, drawing out her bliss, taking her until he couldn’t resist anymore and, screaming to his Maker, spilled himself inside of her.

Every last drop flowed into her and she could have sobbed, finding bliss in how full she was by him. Both gasping, Cullen pressed his damp forehead against hers and Eurydice unhooked her nails from him, gently smoothing her hand up his jawline and cradling his face.

She was still convulsing around him when she pecked him on the lips and he smiled lovingly, kissing her back.

It took them a bit to fall back on the bed and Cullen to pull out. Eurydice sighed disappointedly, missing him already. But when he rolled over on his side, he took her with him and gathered her against her chest, hiding his face in her hair and breathing her deep. Under her hand, she could feel his heart beating rapidly, assuring her of the life in him she very much adored, and the sound was so soothing, his arms so comfortable, that Eurydice couldn’t help but close her eyes and let herself be led into a slumber.

\--

“Maker’s breath—why couldn’t you have done this before?” Cullen asked languidly and Eurydice only gave a hum in response.

It wasn’t much of a bother to cast the cooling spell through the room. With little distraction and less power than Vivienne’s, the elf cast a comfortable chill around the bed with a lazy flick of her hand. It was the least she could have done—Cullen had been miserable when they had awoken from their short-lived nap. Between her body heat, the fur sheets, and the temperature still threatening to melt the entire fortress, it was not that hard for her to conceive that her Commander might be dying.

Though his grumbling could have tittered less on the edge of babyish in her opinion.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Eurydice hovered over her desk and daintily picked at the bottles littering one side—gifts from nobles and allies alike; fine wines, meads, ales, the such. Much of it wasn’t to her taste—except the Abyssal Peach, which she had and would again kill for—but she knew that Cullen would take some comfort in a drink—or it would at least quiet him for the time being.

“What time is it? Shit—I think I missed the appointment with Harritt—those damn shields of his are turning to brittle in the men’s hands. Oi, give me a paper and quill, would you? Maybe I could write a message and meet him before he has my head. Swear, he’ll hold this grudge for the rest of our days—but if he sleeps in annndDD-A-A-AH  _SWEET_  MAKER! GET THAT OFF!”

The liquid hadn’t been chilled that much, though admittedly there was a light frosted smoke about the bottle as she touched it to the back Cullen’s neck.

“It’s for you.” Eurydice told him flatly, ignoring the slight glare she had received.

Cullen frowned, eyeing it and then her like it was poison, and then took it from her. “What is it?” He asked though he had already started to uncork it.

Eurydice shrugged her shoulders. “I do not know. Brandy, I think.”

He took a long swig and then cleared his throat, “Yes, definitely a brand. Kick in the jaw too—who gave this to you?”

That, she didn’t have an answer for. Instead, she inspected the messy pile that was her discarded dress. The delicate sheer material was wrinkled now, the back of it torn from her haste to get it off, and reeked of sweat and sex.

Hm, someone would have a fit—mostly the shem still muttering about reports under her sheets—if she wore this out. She didn’t really care but everyone else did. Carelessly, she dropped the dress again and walked to her closet. Opening it up, she let a clattering of metal armor fall at her feet—Cullen’s armor, in fact, ice cold now thanks to the spell.

Cullen noticed and sat right up, “ _That’s_  where you put it all?”

“Yes?” Eurydice answered as she pulled out his mantle and shook it out. “Where else would it have gone? Over my balcony?”

“I—well, actually—”

Eurydice cocked her eyebrow at him and Cullen flushed in shame, casting his eyes down. “It is impossible to tell when you’re joking, my love.”

She supposed he had a point. It was impossible for her to tell when everyone else was joking too.

“Ah, well.” He started, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, “Best to get that all on now while it’s bearable in here. Hand me my shirt, would you?”

“Hm. No.” She answered and put the mantle on, nuzzling her cheek into the fur. “It is all mine now. You will have to stay.”

Cullen stilled and shot her a look over his shoulders, his lips in a flat unamused line. “That’s hardly appropriate it, Inquisitor.”

“Neither is you naked in my bed, ena’vun, but here you are.”

“That’s, uh, that’s different from, er…” He flushed and scratched the back of his neck.

Oh, he was being cute again. Very cute. Hiding a smile in the fur, Eurydice crawled back onto the bed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Stay with me. I’ll keep you cool.”

Cullen gave a weak chuckle, “Tempting, but I’ll need a better initiative than that.”

“…Okay.” And so she took the bottle from his slack grip, sipped the ice cold brandy, and then, cupping his face and opening his mouth, let the liquor slid off her tongue and wash over his. Licking both of their lips, Eurydice pulled back and, looking at his dazed eyes, asked: “Is that better?”

The searing kiss she was dragged back into said it was.

**Author's Note:**

> Ending Notes-
> 
> Elven phrases and words (credit to Project Elvhen by FenxShiral)
> 
> Din- adj. adv. n. death, dead, no  
> Fenedhis- int. a common curse word. While the literal translation would essentially be "Wolf Cock" the use as a curse word in the language is similar to "Shit," "Fuck," or "God Damn"  
> Sathan- int. please  
> Shem'el- adj. adv. quicker, faster, with more haste  
> Nuvenan avan ma’edhis sule bre’garas in br’av- I want to suck your cock until you cum deep in my throat.  
> Pala em elvar’el- Fuck me harder  
> Ena'vun- Sunrise


End file.
